I'm Back With You
by Yikiri
Summary: Since that fateful night when Itachi Uchiha was only thirteen, all he wanted to hear was 'I love you' from the ones he lost forever.


He opens his eyes, greeted by yellow light. Itachi squints, the soft luminescence startling him. The Uchiha remembers Sasuke, and his last words, before his life was ripped out of him. Isn't he supposed to be . . . . dead? Sasuke . . . his little brother. His heart aches as he thinks of him; Sasuke still hates him. But that is what Itachi wants. Tobi will be dead soon, burned to ash by Itachi's own Amaterasu. Sasuke would finally be safe.

Itachi widens his eyes more, taking in more of his surroundings. He senses no danger; but from his short life, he knows that one can never be too careful. The world holds dangers like shadows as the sun goes down–plentiful, and deceiving. Pushing himself up, the raven-haired man finds that he is in a baggy, off-white shirt and pants, the folds loosely hanging around his wiry form. Death doesn't mean peace; Itachi expects nothing from his passing from that world to this foreign one. In no right did he _deserve _peace.

As he walks, his legs are wobbly. He remembers staggering over to his frightened brother under the façade of taking his eyes. Itachi shakes the thought away. Sharp, dark eyes take in everything, but gold-tinted clouds limit his vision. Even though the blindness inflicted by the Sharingan is released, his vision is still harried. He hisses in frustration. For the second time in his life, Itachi feels utterly lost. He continues to walk forwards, and the fog clears around his feet, hovering angelically in the distance.

Thoughts linger on Sasuke, and Itachi closes his eyes against the pain he feels. What will his baby brother make of his last words? Would all of his efforts keep Sasuke safe? Itachi wishes that he could clear these thoughts away. It is foolish of him to wish that death would bring peaceful numbness, but no one can resist the temptation of believing such a thing. After all, the Uchiha's life has been nothing but agony from the start. But this was the fate of every Uchiha; there had never been one that remained within the light, instead succumbing to their blood-soaked fate. It disgusted Itachi, but he could do nothing for it.

Sauntering forwards, Itachi's mind is plagued with memories. _Is this place Hell?_ Itachi asks, stopping his persistent pace. _Disguised in the clouds of Heaven as it torments me? Am I cursed to walk these halls of remembrance until I'm nothing more than a tortured soul? _Itachi feels pathetic; he hasn't been in this world for more than a few minutes, and he already feels like the broken toys he and his brother would leave scattered across the living room floor.

He can't bear it; Itachi falls to his knees, clutching his head. His hair rips underneath his fingertips, yet he feels no pain. Torment, indeed. Itachi brings shaking hands in front of his face, staring at their pale perfection. He can't even cause other pain to distract him from this.

_No, _Itachi thinks, his eyes fluttering open. _I won't break. I can't break. _But he wasn't prepared for the sight that would meet his beleaguered eyes.

Standing there, bodies draped in the same clothing as he himself is adorned in, are his parents. Itachi blinks slowly, his head tilting curiously to the side, as it did when he was but a child. They don't disappear, like he expected.

After the time of the massacre, Itachi had been plagued with a variety of dreams. In some, his parents would be standing there, their bright faces alight with laughter and kindness. A young Sasuke would be standing, each hand nestled in one of his mother's and father's. As fast as Itachi ran, he could never reach them. Their laughter pierced his sorrowful ears, but they got ever farther away.

Other times, he would find himself thirteen again, his shaking hands holding that damned katana. Itachi would feel his tears running down his face, as they had on that night, dripping onto the blade that was destined to plunge itself into his beautiful mother's body.

_Why were they here? _Itachi thinks to himself, agony coursing through every fiber of his being. His head droops, eyes wide and staring at his clenched, pale hands.

Black eyes burn into him, very clearly trained into the top of his bent head. Itachi wants to run, to escape the condemning eyes of his parents. But his body won't move. He can't escape them.

"Mother?" he asks, rising to his feet. "Father?"

They don't respond. Not a word, not a smile, not a gesture. Itachi feels tears pricking at his eyes. Did his parents . . . . hate him? He forces the threatening wetness behind his lids away. They had a right to despise him; he had chosen _their _side. By his own will.

Why hadn't he just died with his family? Their pain would have been lessened if they died with their son loving them to the very end, and taking care of their youngest. Itachi would have been taken down, valiantly throwing himself in front of his mother and brother, fighting alongside his father to protect what was precious to him. He would have fallen, the life bleeding out of him, holding his young brother in his arms as they went to the afterlife together.

Sasuke lived nothing but a life of hell after that day. He had done nothing for him. His baby brother would be afraid to trust, to love, to care. He _did _die on that day.

Itachi realized he had been so very selfish. And he realized it too late.

Behind his eyes, a child, one he recognizes to be himself, falls down. A woman, crying his name, runs to the fallen boy. He tries as hard as he can to stop the tears threatening to fall as he examines his cut knees and hands, but he loses the fight. The salty tears burn as they fall on the scrapes, but he can't stop them. She reaches him and encloses the child in her arms, whispering comforting things into his ear. The child smiles, and sinks into the embrace of his mother.

As the one image ends, another bombards him. A child plays by himself, tossing kunai lazily at a tree. On the porch, the mother and father watch him fondly. The father's arms are around her, cradling the swelling stomach that held their growing son. Their little boy was going to have a baby brother. A little brother that he could teach to throw the same kunai he throws now. A little brother that he would always protect.

They can't hate him. He would apologize for eternity, until they finally said those words he so missed–_I love you. _

"Mother." Itachi starts walking towards them, his feet feeling leaden. "Father."

Itachi feels that at any moment, they'll disappear. That they'll leave him alone, as he had been for so many years, yearning to comfort his little brother, or to help his mother when he had a moment in the kitchen. He tries to remain calm, but he begins to lose the battle.

In a matter of moments, Itachi is sprinting towards them, his feet feeling as though they have wings. His parents. The ones he had thought would never forgive him. They are standing with him in his Hell. Or Heaven.

As he reaches them, Mikoto and Fugaku Uchiha look at him. Their dark, Uchiha eyes stare at him, unfathomable as always. Itachi's breath runs short, and he attempts to hide his heavy breathing. Emotions flicker through the ebony dark of their eyes, but Itachi can't decipher them. The tears that had threatened to fall before return, and he pushes them back. Unknowingly, he raises a childish hand to wipe away any wetness that may have stained his face.

Itachi feels so very much like a child at that moment.

"Itachi," Mikoto says, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around her heartbroken son. Itachi doesn't hesitate to return the hug, enclosing her slender frame, tucking his face into her shoulder.

"Mother," Itachi says, his voice cracking. He feels arms that could only belong to his father enclose the two of them, pulling their bodies close to his bigger frame.

Itachi falls into the embrace of his mother and father, his. Tears he had suppressed since that fateful night fell down his cheeks, and he hides his face against his mother's neck. A large lump forms in his throat, and he fights against it to find the words he so wished to speak to the parents that had always loved him, no matter what he had done.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. . . ." Itachi sobs brokenly, his voice hardly louder than the soft breeze whistling around their ankles.

"Shush," Mikoto soothes, stroking his silky black hair.

"Itachi," his father's deep voice rumbled. "It's okay, my son."

Itachi remains in their grasp. All those years, every touch had been empty. His want for peace was too much as he stared at the family that planned to kill everything he held dear: Tranquility, and his brother's innocence. He loved them more than anything, but he had no other choice. He knew that his mother and father had forgiven him.

Now, they are free of such petty human problems. He could be with them–finally.

"I'm back with you."


End file.
